


Will The World Burn?

by plant_flwrs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Dark Academia, Domestic Fluff, Established Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Fluff, M/M, Mechanic!Sirius, remus and sirius have a lazy day at home, remus is a chaotic author, wolfstar, writer!remus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 22:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29497446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plant_flwrs/pseuds/plant_flwrs
Summary: Remus and Sirius and their blissful life surrounded by books, tea, rain, crumpled sheets, and each other.
Relationships: Sirius Black & Remus Lupin, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Kudos: 44





	Will The World Burn?

**Author's Note:**

> a bit of a character study for remus and sirius and their lazy days. also an excuse for me to write dark academia vibes.

Remus wanted to be a scholar. 

He wanted to hurry through libraries, his long and bony fingers– his mother had always told him he had the most delicate hands, hands meant for holding open books, hands that would repel a hammer or even a keyboard if he wanted an office job– running over the spines of ancient books, collecting dust under them as he opened the books for the first time in years.

He wanted to curl up in his apartment– the apartment he had searched for for entirely too long in hopes of finding a place with the perfect windows– with tea in his mug while he wrote notes in margins of books he couldn’t help dissect.

Remus wanted to sit at home, or anywhere, really, and learn all day.

Sirius could not understand this. 

Sirius, who worked when he didn’t have to, spent the business hours of most days at a garage he was employed at. He was damn good at what he did, and he didn’t rely on the job for money, so his employers usually didn’t have a problem when he called in sick.

Remus had a problem when Sirius called in sick.

This morning, after staying up fairly late under the light of a dim and antique lamp reading and writing, Remus woke with the sun on his face. He woke up to their white sheets sprawled over his legs, tangled and stolen from Sirius’s side of the bed. Sirius didn’t seem to mind, however, and instead took to curling himself up in a ball for comfort.

Upon seeing this small act of childlike vulnerability, Remus felt a part of his insides warm and melt away despite the harsh reality of being woken up by the sun. He pushed the sheets off his legs, casting a glance to the floor beside his side of the bed. He saw their heavy quilt crumpled up, obviously a victim of Remus’s. 

The bed was empty, a landscape that only Remus and Sirius had the map to. Remus knew each river and mountain of their bed in his sleep, and Sirius knew each river and mountain on Remus in his sleep. This was how, still asleep, Sirius managed to uncurl his body at the first sense of Remus moving over to him. Openly, he accepted Remus’s arms around him. They curled and molded together, Sirius was warm from the sun on his bare skin and Remus was warm from just being Remus. 

Remus had a fairly good idea of how the morning would go from here. Sirius would open his eyes eventually, probably unable to pass up the opportunity of being conscious while Remus’s body was pressed against his. The two would put their finishing touches on the unmade map of their bed, thankful for the sheets being kicked in the night. Remus would stay in bed, watching as Sirius stumbled out of it. Remus would sit against the headboard, his bare skin somehow shining in the sun as Sirius stared at him from the bathroom, door wide open as he brushed his teeth and went about getting ready for his day. Remus would pick up the book he had on his nightstand, he’d shuffled through the drawers of his nightstand looking for his special ballpoint pen that had been chewed and used beyond belief, and work away his morning until Sirius distracted him. These distractions usually came in the form of tea, maybe even a pastry if they had any in, and Sirius climbing back into bed. Sirius would be clothed by this point, and he’d sit next to Moony with his head on his shoulder, stealing bites of the pastry he brought or sips of tea and watching as Remus read his book, or listening when Remus read it to him.

Then, after some more possible discovery of the bed and Sirius redressing after this possible discovery, Remus would be left alone in the flat. He would read and write and bound across the living room in his sweater and underwear, reading aloud his books and talking to himself as he did so. He’d reenact the gestures of the people in the books as he made himself lunch. He would throw the book onto the couch and storm into his bedroom, where he wrote his thoughts out on the stationary Lily had gotten him for his birthday. It had moons and stars on it. Irrelevant, but still a part of Remus’s day.

Today, however, Sirius made no move to discover the bed. He simply stayed curled into Moony, his silky black hair flowing over the sheets like spilled ink. Remus decided he would close his eyes, fingers tangling in the spilled ink, and wait for Sirius to arise for work.

When Remus opened his eyes again, the sun was no longer rising into the sky, it was now in the sky. Right above them, warming the room even more than it had been in the morning. Remus’s skin was sticking to Sirius’s in ways he hated and loved. His face was wet against the pillow, as if he’d been crying, but he knew he hadn’t been crying. Sirius was no longer curled into Remus; rather, he had thrown himself onto Remus. His face was tucked into Remus’s neck, his lips connecting with the line where his hair ended and his neck began. His nose was pressed against Remus’s ear, the soft sound of breathing filling Remus’s brain. Remus could feel Sirius’s eyelashes against his cheek, and he tilted his head to feel them even more, sighing as they brushed against him. Sirius’s chest was on Remus’s, but his right leg was still on the bed while his left leg was reaching across Remus’s hips. Sirius’s left hand was wrapped loosely on Remus’s shoulder, his elbow resting between Remus’s ribs. When Remus inhaled deeply, his elbow would shift out of the crevice between two ribs and move to the crevice between two other ribs; when he exhaled, his elbow would be back where it started. 

This was not usually how their days went. Usually, this part was over. This must be the extended version, Remus thought. It had not even crossed his mind that his day of reading aloud and obnoxiously storming around the house would be rescheduled.

All that was on his mind was Sirius pressed against him. 

Remus’s hands found their way to Sirius’s back. Sirius’s skin, now cold from the lack of sun invading their room, felt like it could catch on fire beneath Remus’s touch. He pushed the pads of his fingers harder against Sirius’s skin, relishing in the feeling of the cold against his arms now. 

When they had first started fooling around in school, James found it incredibly helpful for one reason only: Remus had the impressive ability of being the only one able to wake Sirius up without getting a hex thrown at him. James would creep into Remus’s fourposter, usually finding Remus to still be awake with a book in his lap, and ask him to get Sirius up for Quidditch practice. Remus would reluctantly put the book face down and open on the bed, saving his spot for when he would return to it once James and Sirius vacated the dorm. He would pad over to Sirius’s bed, unable to suppress the new and exciting feeling of being the one James Potter went to help for. Unable to suppress the new and exciting feeling of being the only one good at something. Unable to suppress the new and exciting feeling of being the one who got to wake up Sirius Black. Remus’s long and bony fingers would curl around the curtain, slowly pulling it open and saying Sirius’s name in the way he loved Remus to say it so Sirius would know it was him. Sirius, bleary-eyed and still asleep, would smile at the sound of Remus and open his arms and tug away the blanket, giving Remus an unspoken invitation for a party that Sirius had planned in his honor. Remus, with his own smile and a glance over his shoulder at James, waiting with his hands on his hips, fully dressed in his team captain uniform, would grab Sirius’s hands in his own and squeeze in a way he hoped Sirius knew was the most lovingly way he could. Sirius would try and pull Remus into bed, and Remus would carefully and willingly protest, settling on the edge of the bed on his knees. His hands still in Sirius’s, he would watch as Sirius brought their conjoined hands to his mouth, kissing them and holding them there as a child cuddles with a stuffed animal. Remus would have to remind himself of James standing by the door; remind himself of the foggy Quidditch pitch waiting for its star Beater, Sirius Black; remind himself of the sweaty Sirius that would return after practice; remind himself of the empty dorm once James and Pete went to breakfast and Sirius crawled in Remus’s bed to appease an appetite he wouldn’t be able to appease down in the Great Hall. Remus would tug his hands from Sirius’s worship of them, placing them on his shoulders and lifting him as best he could. Sirius would still manage to smile as he nuzzled Remus’s shoulder before he stumbled out of bed and dressed for practice.

Remus, without the conditions of Quidditch practice, had no reason to get Sirius awake and out of bed now. Now, while Sirius was an adult with a job he sometimes went to, and Remus was an adult who had books to write and scholarly pursuits to achieve, neither of them had as much obligation to get out of bed as urgently. And it certainly wasn’t like they had James waiting by the door. 

Sirius, now wrapped in Remus’s arms, tightened his grip on Remus’s shoulder and pressed his face impossibly closer to Remus’s neck. Remus might have shuddered at this feeling back in school, but now it simply made him arch his back to press closer to Sirius, impossibly closer. 

Remus ran his fingers up and down Sirius’s spine, going lower and lower every time he did. Sirius sighed at each inch Remus touched, his lips mouthing empty words against Remus’s neck. They were melting into each other, like two glasses that you couldn’t tell which was spilling over and which was filling. 

Sirius slipped off of Remus, laying by his side. Remus turned, bringing Sirius back to him by pulling him in with his leg over Sirius’s hip. Sirius let him. Sirius brought his hands to Remus’s sides, his palms filling the empty spaces that dented and curved around Remus’s bones. Remus put his hands everywhere; Sirius’s cold back, his flat chest, his long neck, his elegant face, his strong legs. All Sirius could do was sigh. 

It wasn’t that Remus didn’t like days like these, it was just that they were unexpected. He had a book he needed to write about, he had a colleague he needed to email, he had an agent he needed to send a draft to, he had a lecture he had to prepare for the college that had invited him to speak to a bunch of kids his age (that last one Remus was really nervous about). Bust Sirius lulled these thoughts, instead, making him realize it was only him and Sirius. It was only Remus and Sirius. No books, no notes, no emails, no lectures. It was just Sirius and his hands and Remus and his legs wrapping around Sirius. 

They got out of bed when the sky turned orange. 

They padded around the kitchen as if they were just opening their eyes for the first time, walking around like fawns using their legs for the first time. Everything was slow and without purpose. Sirius had forgotten he made tea, and it now sat cold on the table. He forgot he put the kettle on for another cup of tea, and the sound of the kettle screaming made both of them jump. 

Remus read and Sirius watched television. Remus watched television and Sirius conjured something to eat from the little they had in the kitchen. Sirius returned with two plates and they ate, talking and laughing and kissing and nuzzling and throwing the occasional piece of food at the other. 

They returned to bed after only a couple of hours of being away from it.

“You going to work tomorrow?” Remus whispered, though the sound carried in the empty room and there was no point in keeping his voice down. Still, it felt right for the intimacy of their bed.

Sirius curled into Remus’s side, clutching the quilt to his chest as a goodbye before Remus would unknowingly discard it in the night.

“Dunno. I might,” Sirius whispered back.

“One of us has to go out in the world. Make sure it doesn’t burn down while we’re holed up in here,” Remus looked at the ceiling, his eyes adjusted to the dark. His eyes felt heavy, but he’d never stop talking to Sirius if he could help it.

“I think if we went out into the world, it would burn down. We’re keeping it safe by staying holed up.”

“So, I guess we can never leave?”

“No, I don’t reckon we can.”

“That’s a shame,” Remus yawned as he said this.

“Is it?” Sirius smiled as he said this.

Remus awoke to a pastry on his bedside table and his favorite mug filled with still steaming tea. Sirius watched him from the doorway of their bathroom, toothbrush in his mouth. His pants hung low on his hips and his forearm supported his weight as he leaned against the doorjamb. 

“Morning,” Sirius said, muffled from the toothpaste.

“Good morning,” Remus shuffled his body up so he sat against the headboard, looking at Sirius fully.

Sirius, with slow blinks and wide grins, turned his back to Remus and went further into the bathroom. Remus did his familiar search for his book and pen, finding them as easily as one finds their house keys in their pocket. He propped the book open on his lap, his lap absent of any blankets, and read as he waited for Sirius. When Sirius did emerge, he went to the closet to get dressed. Remus watched him from over the top of his book, the way he knew Sirius liked to be watched, and brought his tea to his lips. 

Once he was dressed, Sirius fell onto the bed and scooted around until he sat beside Remus. Peering into the book, reaching over Remus to retrieve their breakfast, Sirius felt incredibly at home.

“Is this the same one as the day before?” Sirius asked about the book, knowing Remus had somehow read more since the morning before last, where Sirius had left off.

“Yes, but we’ve read this one already,” Remus and Sirius, when Sirius felt completely content and at peace, made the silent tradition of Remus reading to Sirius to fill the silence that Sirius knew would change his peace and content. 

“Which one is it?” Sirius didn’t wait for an answer, his hands gently tugging the book over so he could read the cover. “Mm,” he hummed in response, apparently approving of the choice, and leaned against Remus’s shoulder. 

Remus began to read aloud, stopping occasionally to mark the page with a new line of blue ink, forever signifying that moment in time within the little book.

Sirius got crumbs on the bed, as he usually did, and Remus brushed them out when Sirius left for work.

It began to rain after Sirius left. 

Time slowed as it had the day before. The sun was tucked away for safekeeping behind an army of dark clouds looming over London like the diligent soldiers they were. Remus could hear puddles collecting outside. He sat in front of an open window, not minding as the pages of his notebook curled at the edges from the moisture. He knew his pen made scratching noises against the pages, but the weather outside was louder. 

Remus closed the window when the wind made the rain slant. It fell onto the window with little force, like it was apologetic for the wind changing its course of action. Remus kept writing.

Remus wrote until the tea beside him was empty. He went to the kitchen to fill his mug with something stronger than tea. Their liquor cabinet had nothing Remus wanted. 

The entryway was one of Remus’s favorite part of the flat. So many nights where Sirius held Remus against the wall, pushing his clothes off with little to no remorse as they fell to the ground in heaps. The collection of he and Sirius’s things hanging on the wall– keys, jackets, bags, scarves– living in harmony. The framed picture of him and Sirius sitting on a table by the door. That framed picture being knocked over when Remus lifted Sirius to sit on the table as he assaulted his neck with his mouth and his hands went everywhere they could.

In the entryway, Remus took his coat off one of the hooks and began to put it on. He had already put on pants for the day, unusual for most days, and was adjusting the collar when keys rattled in the door. 

“Remus- Oh,” Sirius interrupted himself, stopping in the doorway, “Hello.”

Remus liked the way Sirius said hello to him. It was like a relieved sigh, or the way he breathed when Remus said he loved him for the first time. 

“We’re out of the good alcohol,” Remus said in lieu of a greeting. He wondered if it was because he felt like his hello wouldn’t be as full as Sirius’s.

“Well, let’s go fix that,” Sirius turned his body so Remus could walk past him.

In the hall, Remus asked: “Is alcohol worth the world burning?”

Sirius gave Remus a look of extreme horror, “Of course, Remus. Of course, alcohol is worth the world burning.”

Remus smiled, partly at Sirius’s ability to always remember the little bits Remus liked to mention, and partly at the way Sirius said Remus. It was like the way Lily smiled at Harry, or the way Sirius smiled when Remus said he loved him for the first time. 

In the rain, they walked under any awning they could find. They were lucky they found so many. 

When they got to the corner store, Sirius shook his hair out like a dog before he opened the door for Remus. The water, having transferred from Sirius’s hair to Remus’s jacket, was ignored. Their shoes squeaked against the tile, and they wordlessly nodded their heads in greeting to the man behind the counter. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Remus walked to the nice side of the liquor section. Remus had long ago lost the war against Sirius’s money and instead grew to enjoy the benefits. Like the lack of stress when he turned on the hot water, not having to wonder if it would work; or the easy spread of the name brand butter on his toast compared to the battle against the cheap butter to get it to even melt on the toast; the ability to easily get the good liquor. 

As Sirius waited behind another couple paying, Remus scanned the cheap paperbacks that were displayed in a spinning wire contraption. He plucked the best-looking one– simple letters with a picture of a wide, open field– from the contraption and joined Sirius at the counter. They left with a paper bag full of alcohol and a book.

Back at home, Remus paged through the book while Sirius carried the bag to the kitchen. Bringing his mug in with him, he put it on the counter and waited for Sirius to fill it as he leaned against the counter, still occupied with his new book. 

Once Sirius’s roaming hands on Remus’s waist distracted Remus enough from the book, they moved into the living room with their mugs full of newly acquired good alcohol.

“How was work?” Remus asked, tucking his toes beneath Sirius’s thighs as he faced him on the couch.

“Work was work,” Sirius said, quirking an eyebrow as he looked at Remus’s feet. He put a cold hand on Remus’s socked ankle, rubbing the bones like they were tight muscles, “How were the books?”

Remus liked it when Sirius talked about his books like they were alive.

“Still books.”

They both took a sip from their mugs.

“Were you awake enough to notice the rain today, before we left?” Sirius was referring to two things: Remus’s love for the rain and Remus’s tendency to stay in bed all day with the curtain drawn if he found a really good book. 

“I did. It was nice. Not too hard, not too soft.”

Sirius smiled. So did Remus.

“We had to move all the bikes and stuff inside,” Sirius said, sighing and relaxing into the couch. “I was working outside since the past few weeks have been so nice. But,” he sighed again, his tone becoming the tired tone of a father talking about the harsh loss of his favorite football team, making Remus smile, “can’t have anything rusting.”

“Rusting is usually bad,” Remus agreed, his smile making it seem like he was teasing Sirius. He was.

Sirius smiled back, making it seem like he didn’t mind being teased. He didn’t.

The two took sips from their mugs.

“Make any progress on that draft?” Sirius asked, his fingers moving up from Remus’s ankles to his shin.

“None at all,” Remus smiled.

Remus didn’t mind deadlines when he was with Sirius, like this. It was just him and Sirius. Remus and Sirius. No deadlines. No drafts.

They almost fell asleep on the couch that night. In fact, they did.

Sirius, however, finding himself the bearer of Remus’s weight on top of him, shifted them awake. Remus groaned and nosed into Sirius’s hair. It smelled of rain.

“Your hair smells of rain,” Remus thought Sirius ought to know. 

“You smell of alcohol,” Sirius thought Remus ought to know. 

With lots of stumbling, they managed to find their bedroom. 

With lots of tripping, they managed to find their bed.

With no hesitation, they managed to find each other in bed. Sirius pulled the blankets close and tight, Remus pulled Sirius close and tight.


End file.
